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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474140">Madrigal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher'>eldritcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chorale [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family, Incest, Love, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 12:21:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The progression of grand romance, from tentacles to bloodsport to breath-play and similar flirtatious activities.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maedhros | Maitimo/Maglor | Makalaurë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chorale [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Song of Sunset AU</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Madrigal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fragments restored from old drafts, offered to you for making it through 2020. Well done :)</p><p> </p><p>Maglor's first person narration. Don't despair of first person narration until you give it a try or two :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>Act I</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Long loved in yearning's deep</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
My brother was troubled.</p><p>As if merely that did not suffice, he was troublesome too, endless vexing, and my personal bane come to life. </p><p>Whyever had he come to the ceremony?  </p><p>"Why did you invite him?" I demanded of Findaráto. </p><p>"It is my coronation!" he said, puffing up like the demented cat he was. Sighing, I bade him sit down so that I might braid his mop of golden hair to kingly dignity. </p><p>"Ah! I should keep you as my maid, cousin!" He jested.</p><p>"You cannot afford me." </p><p>"Alas!" He lamented, his eyes bright and shining in goodwill as he met my gaze in the ridiculously ornate mirror inlaid with what seemed the antlers of elk.</p><p>It must be from Doriath. He had decided to live in <em>caves</em>. Doriath had rusticated him. I had liked him once, before he had decided to go native. He served berries and leaves at luncheon! Our family had been flabbergasted. Dismayed, Irissë had called for a hunt. What dwelt by caves? Perhaps spiders. If anyone could hunt spiders, it was Irissë.  </p><p>Caves. </p><p>"What have you against my caves?" Findaráto asked. </p><p>My brother was claustrophobic. I could not see how he would fare the night here. Twelve nights, I had heard from my spies in his guard. He must have brought along a basket of opium. My fingers clenched in Findaráto's hair, eliciting a wince from my cousin. </p><p>"Nolofinwë is here," Findaráto said gently. "He shall keep an eye on Russandol."</p><p>I said nothing. Nolofinwë was not I. Our uncle did not have my power to sing him to sleep when he was in the throes of nightmares. Our uncle did not know how to coax him to eat without tripping on his shards of pride. Our uncle did not-</p><p>"Macalaurë, you must not scowl so! It is terrible for your circulation!"</p><p>"I cannot watch him-" I swallowed. I had caught a glimpse of him when he had arrived. He had been gaunt and pale, and from even afar I had seen him shiver in the cold winds. </p><p>"Have you considered that you could have a conversation with him?" Findaráto nudged. </p><p>Our family was rather keen to have me speak to my brother. They worried over him, and feared that without my iron will he was wasting away in recklessness and lack of self-preservation. </p><p>"He did not want me near him," I said brokenly, hating how terrified my tone was. </p><p>I had recovered, I had told myself, again and again. I had exercised him out of my thoughts. My craven want for him lingered no longer in my blood. I had promised myself that he was merely family, of the distant sort, and that I could think of him without fearing his scorn once more.  </p><p>"He reacted strongly because he was surprised," Findaráto said, with the patience of one who had spoken the same words a thousand times. "You know he did not mean to cause you sorrow. It was impulse."</p><p>"He is not impulsive."</p><p>Everybody else in our family was, but he was not. </p><p>Findaráto sighed and leaned back against me. The care on his mien was a haunted one. </p><p>"Macalaurë, he has not been himself since he returned. You know this. It is to his credit that he strives to give us what we remember of him."</p><p>It was a facade. I knew that. Somedays, I feared the ugliness in me, that dark thought which came upon me in a whirl of self-loathing, when I felt that I had left him because I had not wanted to behold what had become of him.  </p><p>"You reacted in spectacular folly," Findaráto continued sternly. "You <em>married</em>." </p><p>"It is a good marriage," I held. </p><p>It was not. We made do. </p><p>"That girl does not understand anything!" Findaráto hissed, standing up, and the anger that flashed in his eyes reminded me abruptly that he was a scion of our house, despite his manner of mellowness. "You married a child!"</p><p>"The court found her!" I defended myself. "Hardly my doing! They offered her to  the firstborns, before they offered her to me. None of you wanted the chore! My marriage at least placated the court!"</p><p>They had offered a bride to my brother, who had claimed that he would not be able to provide the heir the court demanded. I suspected it was merely his customary evasion of women. </p><p>They had then sought an heir from Findekáno, who had vehemently refused. Why would he consent? He had what he had always wanted. He had my brother at his whim and bidding. Fury roiled in my blood at that thought. I could murder him in his sleep. Only my brother's existence stayed my hand. </p><p>They had approached Findaráto then. He had made extravagant excuses, insinuating that he might be courting Luthien. He was bedding Thingol, the cad, but at least he had had the sense to keep his mouth sealed on the matter.</p><p>When my brother had found the depth of my regard for him, and reacted poorly, I had panicked and run to the court. <em>I shall marry and provide the heirs you seek. Find me a bride</em>,  I had told them. I had scarce looked at the girl since, though I kept her well and was fond of her. I was grateful to her, for she had given me the reason to leave my brother under a flimsy facade of duty. </p><p>"Macalaurë, you hurt him irreparably," Findaráto was telling me. "Findekáno is worried."</p><p>"Findekáno does not care for my presence!" I shouted. "He does not care for any of our presence, when he desecrates my brother!"</p><p>There was a sharp rap on the door then. </p><p>"My guards," Findaráto explained apologetically. "All is well!" He called to them. </p><p>Another practice he had brought from Doriath. What need had he for guards in our family quarters? </p><p>"One cannot be too safe!" He insisted, reading my expression well enough. </p><p>"I am going for a walk." </p><p>"Come back cheerier, please," he demanded. </p><p>----------</p><p>I found myself wandering far from the caves. A guard, bearing Findaráto's sigils, was following at a discreet distance. I waved him off, annoyed. </p><p>The formal robes I had worn was stifling. My shoes were more suited to the spectacle of court than for the craggy lands I trod upon. I persisted, until I had left behind the settlements of my cousin's realm, until I was beneath the open skies in arid desolation.  </p><p>Mere and tor underneath the full moon gleamed in spring's thaw. </p><p>I sighed, finding a measure of peace in the silence.    </p><p>Nolofinwë would later chide me soundly for this, for walking mapless and guardless in a place I knew not. He cared for my welfare in ways my father had never known to. </p><p>Best not to think of my father. </p><p>I hoped that Irissë or Telpe would come to fetch my wife for supper. Marriage had seemed convenient at the time. I ought not to have acted in haste, I knew. I had acted as my father, impulsively, and not given thought to the consequences to others. </p><p>Best not to think of my father. </p><p>Findaráto's newfound love for Doriath was worrying. They held no love for us, for kinslayers. I feared that he might be cleaved between our doom and Thingol's demands. He had not his father's dispassion when it came to love. All his pretence of sage wisdom and gentleness, and yet inside he burned with the fire of our house. He had more in common with my father than with his. </p><p>Best not to think of my father. </p><p>In my attempts to cull my meandering thoughts, my feet had meandered, taking me to a lough. </p><p>In its black, still face, I saw the moon's bright white. In the soft, purple hue of the rainclouds, a lonely tor stood serene and solemn cutting a jagged reflection in the waters, piercing the moon. I scowled at it. I had no appreciation for cliff and crag after my brother's mishap. They would be all leveled to dust, if I had the power. </p><p>Impulsively, I picked up a stone from the loamy ground and threw it with vigor at the reflection, watching in satisfaction as the waters rippled and distorted.</p><p>Sighing, I stood there, watching the ripples.</p><p>Then a low cloud obscured the moon. The ripples were not settling, I noticed, alarmed. As a fool, I had brought no weapon. I remained still, calculating the speed and direction of the ripples. An oily froth was developing at the center.  </p><p>I could run. It was unlikely that the beast was amphibious. I knew however it was best not to move, despite the urge. These beasts reacted swiftly to moving prey, Atarinkë and Tyelko had taught me.  </p><p>A tentacle shot through the water, slicing neatly in a powerful arc, hitting blindly the banks of the loch. The water was more shallow than deep, or so I had miscalculated. The length of the appendage proved me wrong. </p><p>Another tentacle shot through, seeking the disturbance, and it hit the ground a yard from me. A predator, methodical, in its scoping of the surround. If it was resorting to this, it must lack sight or hearing above water. </p><p>The next tentacle was oriented in the opposite direction. How asymmetrical, I thought, surprised, only to be taken aback when the fourth came to my right, skimming the bulk of my robe. I leapt before it could curl about me.  Too late, I knew, for it followed me into the air. Then the appendage fell with a harsh squall from the wounded beast, and it emerged above the waters, as gaping maw and twenty-eyes. I fell to my feet hastily and picked up the sword that had sliced down its appendage, cursing when I recognized the steel.</p><p>At least, his aim had improved, I thought dimly, trying to pinpoint where he stood, so that I might keep the beast away.  </p><p>How exactly was one to keep the beast away? I ought to have listened to Tyelko's tale to the end, before losing interest and wandering away to seek other distractions. </p><p>"Sing to it, Macalaurë."</p><p>His voice I had long loved in yearning's deep. </p><p>"Shut up!" </p><p>"It cannot hear most frequencies," Russandol said helpfully, too close to where I stood. "Others, as song, it finds itself sensitized to." </p><p>Why did he know this? I despaired of his self-preservation once again. </p><p>Later, I promised myself. </p><p>I had a monster to sing to submission at the moment. </p><p> </p><p>Yet I will look upon thy face again,<br/>
My own fire, and it will be<br/>
A face more pleasant than the face of other men.<br/>
Thy sighs are old companions, I shall see<br/>
A well remembered form in each old glance<br/>
And hear a voice long loved in yearning's deep.</p><p> </p><p>My madrigal soared golden, as it built towers of song mighty, and the power of it rippled upon water's crest. The beast trembled and squalled, and in its thrashing the earth shook beneath my feet. Above, the clouds laid siege to the moon, and a purple haze hung upon the night. </p><p>Then all shattered, and the moon broke free, and the beast fell in submission into water's deep once more.  </p><p>I was left drenched in oil and mud and water's froth, holding a sword I would rather not.   </p><p>Swallowing, I turned to look upon my brother's face again. Underneath the moon stood my madrigal's muse. My heart soared, foolish thing that it was.   </p><p>The worry on his features was matched only by his nervousness as he waited for me to speak. He held a dagger in his hand loose. It was the dagger that Grandfather had gifted him. </p><p>"Your aim has improved," I said finally, exhausted beyond mind's measure, as I drank in the dear sight of that well remembered form, wanting nothing more than to run to him and hold him close. </p><p>"Where is your sword?" He asked, his nervousness swiftly replaced by alarm. "Macalaurë, you cannot walk alone far from our guards without a weapon." </p><p>"You went to parley with Morgoth! You cannot speak to me of caution!" I shouted, furious abruptly, as old wounds opened. I had thought them scabbed and scarred and dead. They had merely lain dormant, as the beast in the waters had. </p><p>"Be that as it may, it is foolish of you to wander alone," he said steadily. </p><p>Why was he alone? I knew better than to ask. No answers would I receive from him. His secrets our family had come to see as his nature. </p><p>"I was not alone, was I?" I said, bitter once more. "I cannot be rid of you, wherever I may be." </p><p>A flash of grim resignation crossed his features before he mellowed to his usual mien of diplomacy. </p><p>"I came to clear my mind before supper." </p><p>Claustrophobia had driven him out.<br/>
  <br/>
"You are terrified of caves." </p><p>"I am terrified of many things," he allowed, standing his ground despite my cruel words. "You could perhaps benefit from a dose of healthy terror, brother. That beast could have killed you as a lamb!"</p><p>He had six brothers. He had Findekáno. He had Nolofinwë. What need had he for me? I was the craven one he feared. </p><p>"Perhaps I sought an ending," I said, words spilling that should not have been spoken. </p><p>In my rage, I knew myself to be cruel. It was my father's vice, and it had come to me. I spoke scathing words to hurt, careless of cost and consequence. </p><p>"Macalaurë, please don't," My brother swallowed, stricken. </p><p>He had never dealt with callous words well. It was his temperament, I knew, to be paralyzed by cutting words, even if he bore himself lightly. </p><p>With the will-wrought strength that I had known only him to be capable of, he turned away from me. </p><p>"Leave the sword with my guards," he ordered. </p><p>I watched him retreat. Impulse roared in me again, inexorable. </p><p>"I sing of you," I whispered. </p><p>If he heard my confession, he did not remark upon it as he strode away. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act II</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>I shall seek you in spring's thaw</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Himring, I professed to have a poor opinion of. </p><p>As most objects I professed no attachment to, the truth was markedly different. </p><p>In winter's woods, merry were fords many. I walked the untrod paths beside them, watching them twist and turn in burbling joy, until at last they fed a placid lough. </p><p>My brother, fortunately, had come to accept the silent cooperation I had set betwixt us. I managed his household and his armies. He managed court and diplomacy and his various peculiar pursuits not limited to animal husbandry and agriculture. </p><p>In the beginning of this arrangement, I had fretted that he might take offence to my high-handedness in claiming responsibility of his household. To the contrary, he had gracefully retreated and let me carry on. From there, I had gradually assumed responsibility of the everyday matters of his realm. </p><p>Our family found this division of labor baffling and amusing. Our family, wretched creatures that they were, found the entirety of my complex situation baffling and amusing. </p><p><em>Why must you unnecessarily see troubles where there are none?</em>, Findaráto had written, unhelpful as he was. </p><p><em>I suggest practicing conversation</em>, had been Turkáno's witty advice. </p><p>What would he know of conversation? He communed with the eagles and had likely forgotten how his own kind lived. </p><p><em>He saved you from a dragon!</em> had been Atarinkë's exhortation. </p><p>So I was to attempt conversation in reward for my brother's spectacular lack of self-preservation? I scowled. </p><p>I had spent the past few years worrying for him as he mourned Nolofinwë with sleepless nights and reckless exploits on the plains. If we had not been calcified into our silent cohabitation, I would have dared speak to him of it. </p><p>I was terrified of him, as badly as I was terrified for him. </p><p>In my contemplative stillness, I had not seen the object of my musings approach the lake. He was making for the aspens and the willows on the far side, stride purposeful. He had with him scrolls and a quill. I watched him make annotations on his maps. </p><p>Beaver dams, I realized. </p><p>There had been flooding in the low-lying settlements of the realm in the last spring. He had been hypothesizing that overhunting the beaver population for fur was to blame. It would not endear him to his people if he issued an edict to contain hunting beavers, not when fur was a primary item of commerce. </p><p>Knowing how he disliked stirring from the castle on foot, unless he was climbing to the high eyries, I wished that I had thought to offer my assistance. </p><p>He could have asked, the darker part of mind reminded me. </p><p>When had he willingly asked for assistance? It was not his way. </p><p>Fondness overwhelmed me, as I watched him kneel and inspect the bite marks on the trees, carefully assessing the age distribution of the beavers. He was not overly fond of meticulous chores, preferring the abstract and the multi-layered to these everyday tedium, but he had never shied away from what was necessary. Unlike most of our family, he took the matter of rule solemnly. I blamed our uncle for this indoctrination. I blamed our uncle for how my brother saw in rule a vocation, for it endeared him to me even more. Had I not enough reasons to love him? Why need fate clobber me with more? </p><p>Right then, I had not the will to rail against fate, not when I saw the mud on his robes and the dead leaves caught in his hair. He must be cold. He was always cold. While he wore winter's wool, I knew it did not suffice. Worried, I went to him.</p><p>He startled at the sound of my steps, before settling once again to his census of beavers. </p><p>"Is there a lough you have not found on your long walks yet?" He asked awkwardly, tentative as he ever was in my presence, unwilling to be silent, uncertain of what might bring us to old and bitter words. </p><p>I did not want him to fear me. Of all his fears, this was the most unwarranted one. </p><p>"I can count them for you. My walks take me to every lough and ford," I offered. "It turns cold abruptly when the sun passes its peak. You ought not to come here in the winter." </p><p>His fingers were stiff about his quill and scroll. Sighing, I took them in my hands and briskly rubbed them warm. He let me, without protest. The awe in his eyes was a soft-hued one. </p><p>Winter treated him cruelly. And yet, in winter's sun, against yarrow and holly, he was lovely.  </p><p>"I am not fond of beavers," he said. </p><p>I blinked at him, bewildered by his statement. While he was given to odd soliloquies, I had not expected beavers to feature in one. </p><p>It was the first conversation we stood on the brink of in years, and did not pertain to the logistical. I would be damned before I discouraged him. He may not be fond of beavers, but I found myself blessedly grateful for their existence right then. </p><p>"The healers feed me tinctures of castoreum when I have seizures now," he said quietly. </p><p>My hands clenched about his, before I carefully loosened them so as not to bruise him. </p><p>The healers, well-intentioned as they were, had always treated him as another escaped thrall, bleeding his fevers, drenching him in sheep's lanolin, force-feeding him powerful emetics to overpower his seizures. Poultices, suppositories, funnels of feeding, he had come to be terrified of all. As soon he had a measure of lucidity, he had sought reprieve. Only Artanis had been allowed to tend to him afterwards. She had treated him as family. </p><p>Without Artanis, without me, the healers of our court had once more returned to treating him. </p><p>"Tell them I shall see to your needs from today," I said fiercely, loathing the thought of them causing fear or harm inadvertently. </p><p>They treated him as if he were merely another thrall escaped. He was my brother. I was no healer, but I knew enough to keep him together. Artanis had taught me well.</p><p>"You needn't," he said abruptly, nervous again. "I know it is your pity that drives you. I am well. You needn't lower yourself to tend to me."</p><p>"I shan't harm you," I said, and loathed how burnt and brittle my tone was, exhausted by our silence of decades. </p><p>"I know," he said immediately. "I know, Macalaurë." </p><p>They were not mere words, I realized. He meant them with every fiber of his being. </p><p>My scrutiny made him fidget. </p><p>"I have lost my count," he murmured, staving off his discomposure with alacrity, letting his customary veil of practicality return to him.  </p><p>I undid the heavy cloak of fox furs I wore, and offered it to him. He was not one for furs, considering it altogether plebeian, but he was shivering in his fine lambswool and I could not bear his discomfort. </p><p>The touch of flush to his cheeks may be from the cold, I knew. A startled sigh escaped me when he caught my gaze and smiled, before turning so that I may wrap the cloak warm about him. </p><p>His trust undid me then. My fingers trembled upon his shoulders, and I was glad for the heavy separation of fur and wool that meant he would not know how affected I was. </p><p>"I composed a song," I said softly, thawing to him in our quiet of two. </p><p>In the lough, sheets of ice floated under winter's sun, thinning into melt.  There was not even birdsong, or the rustle of wind. I heard only my heartbeat and his. </p><p>The spill of his hair was crimson upon the black furs I had given him. The scent of him, petrichor, of first rains upon parched earth, was balm and home.  I wished I could look into the silver of his eyes. I was glad that I did not have to, for I feared what censure I might see in them. </p><p>"May I hear it?" He asked. </p><p>"All among the reeds and rushes, <br/>
Among the ford and its fens, <br/>
Among the periwinkle's bright blushes, <br/>
All whisper I shall seek you in spring's thaw."</p><p> </p><p>"You look to spring, even in our winter's heart," my brother said, and I did not need to see his eyes to know they must have turned wistful as he longed for another world. </p><p>"One of us must," I told him gently. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act III </strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>Over shaken pool, under heaven's cool </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Summon my brothers!" I ordered.</p><p>We convened hastily upon the heath, as a foul wind blew from the east, ratting reeds and frightening even the carrion birds. </p><p>Carnistro was the first to speak. The plume of his helm was broken. Blood-drenched, he stood grim. </p><p>"Maitimo should retreat to Himring."</p><p>"Atarinkë, can you see to it?" I demanded. </p><p>"Tyelko should," Atarinkë said quietly. </p><p>The decision was paramount. Who led the retreat would assume the duty of withstanding Morgoth's siege on Himring that would soon ensue in the wake of our defeat on the plains. </p><p>We would die, all of us that remained. It was clear. The rout had been immense, as the Edain fell upon us. Their armies had flanked ours. Only the loyalty of the Dwarves had seen to our survival as we fought Uldor's traitors. Carnistro's armies had been massacred, for they had been the closest to the Edain. </p><p>"We can retreat together," Tyelko said.</p><p>"No," I said firmly. "Findekáno expects us. He has not the numbers to withstand Angband. To the King we must ride."</p><p>Or we would not have a King by the end of this.</p><p>"Macalaurë," Atarinkë began, wary as he glanced at Tyelko. "We shall not arrive in time."</p><p>Then the birds scattered with cries, and over the plains a dry, scorching heat spread. </p><p>"Dragon!" I yelled.</p><p>"They are a night away," Russandol said then finally. </p><p>He had been silent. I had assumed him shaken because he knew as well as we did the writing upon the wall. Only Carnistro's sword had spared him from death at Uldor's hands. </p><p>This time would be different. I would kill him before he fell into Morgoth's hands again. I knew it held for our brothers too. He would not be taken alive, even if it meant we must cut him down.</p><p>"How do you know?" Tyelko asked tersely. </p><p>Tyelko and Russandol had been on difficult terms for many decades. Tyelko had not forgiven him the sordidness he had sought with Findekáno once. As we stood upon a plain of blood, reduced in numbers by betrayal, with shaken armies low in morale, facing a march of dread and death to my cousin's armies in the west, I could not blame Tyelko for his terseness.</p><p>"Let me take the Dwarves and the remaining Edain, and a portion of the cavalry," Russandol said, evading the question as was ever his way. "I can hold off the dragons. Lead the armies to Findekáno, Macalaurë."</p><p>"Your plan saw us betrayed and massacred on the plains!" Tyelko exclaimed, horrified. "How can we trust you to hold the rearguard?" </p><p>Atarinkë winced at the tactlessness of Tyelko's words. </p><p>"You ought to retreat to Himring," Carnistro chimed in. "There will be rivers of blood on the plains ere the third morning, brother. We cannot protect you here."</p><p>"I know the plains better than any of you," Russandol reminded us. </p><p>He held himself as if his trust in Uldor had not seen us defeated before even crossing arms with the enemy. I was exhausted. I had mourned him before he had died. Now it seemed that I must mourn our family because he had not died. Only long-carven love held my tongue. What did cutting him serve? The war was lost. All that we could do was to soften the blow on Findekáno. </p><p>"Macalaurë," Russandol turned to me. </p><p>The substance of faith was this, I realized, as I nodded assent tiredly. </p><p>"Macalarue, we cannot allow him to do this!" Atarinkë said, fierce and frightened.</p><p>"Who leads them?" I asked Russandol.</p><p>"How would he know?" Tyelko asked. "Our scouts have not returned."</p><p>"Glaurung," Russandol said steadily. "There is a wizard's sorcery cloaking them."</p><p>Sauron. </p><p>"Carnistro, stay with him," I said. "You will join us on the fourth day from now. Is that clear?"</p><p>Russandol nodded and left us, making for the Dwarves. He had not taken the least of interest in the tactical aspects of war. His sudden wish to lead the vanguard was frightening. </p><p>"Kill him if you must, if it comes to that," I told Carnistro plainly. "His guards have their orders from me."</p><p>"Macalaurë, brother, we must contain him before he brings more harm upon us," Tyelko entreated. "He is not himself. He has not been, since his return. Perhaps Aikanaro was right all along, when he said that every one of Morgoth's thralls have his sorcery of betrayal placed upon them."</p><p>"What is the worst he can wreak upon the vanguard?" Atarinkë said, mediating.  "The Dwarves have their own generals. The Edain that remain are few in numbers. Our armies will take command from Carnistro."</p><p>What is the worst that could happen? I did not know. I was quite certain that I would find out. My brother had the terrible talent of unearthing the worst of any situation. </p><p>I shoved away the fears from my mind. Ruthless, I must be. He had led us poorly. With what remained, we must make for Findekáno before he fell. I may loathe my cousin, but he was King. If he fell, what of our people?</p><p>"What of Himring?" Atarinkë asked. </p><p>"Let it fall," I ordered. </p><p>"We ride to our King."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>I went to my brother before I was called to lead. </p><p>In the bustle of harried preparations, his men did not know where he was. I glared at them.</p><p>"He said he wanted to be left alone." </p><p>"What have I told you?"</p><p>"To never leave him alone." </p><p>I scowled at them, and thought of where he might wander. What is the most reckless act a man had within his grasp here? There was a crag to the east, amidst a copse of hawthorn trees, and it gleamed faint pink beneath the melded light of moon and sun. It was the only landmark in this desolation.</p><p>Sighing, I briskly walked to him, for I was sure that he would be there. </p><p>"I have become predictable to you," he remarked, when I found him. </p><p>He was standing beside a pool that frothed. It smelled rotten. Alarmed, thinking of the beast that we had once seen in Nargothrond, I went to tug him away from the periphery. </p><p>"Sulphur," he explained. </p><p>"Sulphur?" I asked, racking my brain for what I remembered of the element from my studies that Father had forced upon me. "Volcanoes." Yet, the black that streaked the yellow mud was not of sulphur's make. <br/>
 <br/>
"When they delve, God or Dwarf, they delve deeper than they ought to," my brother murmured. "They forget the limits of creation." </p><p>If I had taken him seriously when he went on so, I would never accomplish anything. I had long become attuned to patiently waiting out his soothsaying. Madness, some said. Foresight, said others. </p><p>I waited him out, until sense he spoke. </p><p>"I will return to you."</p><p>That had been his promise before he had ridden out to negotiations with Morgoth. He had returned to me. Some of him had returned to me. </p><p>I had never been able to resist seeking solace from him, even when I knew that he was incapable. </p><p>He had led us to massacre and betrayal. He had overridden every single caution Findekáno or I or our generals had raised. Turkáno would gut us all for this folly. I missed Turkáno desperately then, for his sense and calm. </p><p>"Ask me, brother," Russandol said gently. In that barren copse of hawthorn, by that foul pool of strange froth, he remained still my north.  </p><p>"Will we arrive in time?"</p><p>A flash of emotion crossed his features, before he said calmly, "You are leading, Macalaurë. Your stubbornness will not fail you." </p><p>"The dragons-"</p><p>"Let me worry about the dragons."</p><p>Even before Glaurung had come to full strength, he had been death upon my realm. I remembered the stench of burning flesh. I remembered the rivers on fire. I remembered fleeing, trusting that my brother would hold the pass. He had. </p><p>"Glaurung has grown to full strength."</p><p>"So I hear."</p><p>"Brother, you must return," I said fiercely, closing the distance between us, taking his face in my hands. Over shaken pool, under heaven's cool, I wished that mine was not the lot to mourn.</p><p>"Trust me, Macalaurë."</p><p>My brother could not be trusted with war. He could be trusted with singular feats of reckless brilliance in the face of the inevitable. Those victories of his had become tales in song and lore. In all our years, the dragons had not ventured to his lands. </p><p><em>Trust is given to the deserving. Faith is blind</em>, Findekáno had told me, after the war council, when we had sought each other in desperation. He and I, creatures of faith, had then agreed to stand aside and watch the bloodshed that we were sure would come.</p><p>"I can only offer you faith," I confessed to Russandol. </p><p>"That shall do," he said, and the spark of amusement in his gaze at our quibble over semantics made me grin. </p><p>I wanted him, streaked in betrayal's blood as he was. </p><p>His shy smile when he realized where my mind had fled was unhelpful. I scowled at him. </p><p>"I am not averse to it," he promised, and the hitch in his voice made me want to speak tender words to him. </p><p>In the fading twilight, in the harsh winds that bore a dragon's unnatural heat, by a lonely copse of hawthorn, by a bubbling pool of sludge, disarrayed and armored as he was, he should not have made my heart surge in want. </p><p>We had found intimacy together only the once, on the eve of the war council. It had been frottage, despite his offer of other pleasures. He knew to give his body. He had given it before. I wanted the rest of him.</p><p>I summoned my characteristic obstinacy that he found endearing and vexing in equal parts. </p><p>A chagrined flush bloomed on his cheeks when he realized I would not be seduced. </p><p>"Come back to me, in one piece, and then we shall see," I declared.</p><p>He nodded, knowing me well enough to understand persuasion would be of little avail. </p><p>"A song, then?" he asked mildly. </p><p>"Our tender whispers, deep in the orchard grove, and<br/>
How wafts incense of myrrh, and cedar, and olive,  and<br/>
How my arms painted your passion colours, and<br/>
how the bee sits on the bloom, suckling sweet."</p><p> </p><p>I brushed a kiss to his cheek, smiling on his skin when I felt the pulse of his  warm yearning.</p><p>"Now I shall certainly return to you," he said, laughing.  </p><p>On war's eve, I held him close with sweet madrigals. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act IV</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It was the Thorn-Bird that sung the sweetest</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What is that?" I asked Elrond, when I saw him carefully edging about me, with a loosely wrapped package held in his hands. </p><p>"It is not for you," he said, bashful. </p><p>I sighed and beckoned him forward. </p><p>Adolescence was a terrible thing, I had told Russandol. He had good-naturedly reminded me that he had entertained me through mine.  </p><p>I unwrapped the package. I would have to teach the boy to wrap gifts neatly. What manner of heathen had he learned this from? </p><p>Inside was a fine-carven wooden pipe. Olive wood. My brother's favorite. </p><p>Elrond had begun to learn woodworking. He had a bent for it. It must have come from his mother's blood. Turkáno had been a disaster in the forge. </p><p>"You realize that I am trying to wean him from his opiates?" I queried. </p><p>This household intended to set fire to my well-laid plans. My lot, it must be said, was an unenviable one. </p><p>Artanis peddled opiates. Elrond had taken to carving instruments for easier usage. Elros brought home gifts of mandragora and pipe-weed! </p><p>"His liver is ailing," Elrond said in a hushed voice, determined. "This will be easier on him than the distillates he has been relying upon!"</p><p>"What of his lungs then?" I barked.</p><p>"A rotation?" Elrond suggested bravely. </p><p>Oh, wherever had he inherited his stubbornness from? Turkáno had not been as obstinate!</p><p>I sighed. </p><p>Russandol, stubborn as he could be when he willed it, was not going to give up his palliatives despite my pleas and wrath. Neither Artanis nor my children were of the mind to refuse indulging him on this matter.  </p><p>And I knew, I knew, I knew, that what remained of my brother was stitched together by mandragora and poppies.</p><p>"Don't be angry," he urged.</p><p>I sighed, portentously.</p><p>"Are you truly so unwilling to let us know how to help him?" He asked, placing his hand on my wrist. </p><p>He was as tall as I was now. Broad-shouldered and whipcord thin, he was a man. How swiftly they had grown! They had been children yesterday. </p><p>I leaned into his touch, letting him see my exhaustion. </p><p>"Ada, please, let us help," he pleaded. </p><p>"Neither of us wanted you to know," I muttered, scowling at the inevitability of it all.</p><p>I had tried to hide Russandol's vices from them. </p><p>Seeing my wariness, my brother had refrained from soothsaying in the presence of the children as best as he could, though as time went by, each day his mind roved further and returned to lucidity for smaller intervals. Not one of his soliloquies made sense anymore. I had become excellent at gently dissuading him from his raving to the practical.<br/>
 <br/>
His dependence on the plants of the people of Marach he had always hidden from all. Artanis knew, and I knew, but he had kept his indulgences in strict privacy. As Elrond and Elros grew older, they had seen Russandol's health deteriorate rapidly; they knew well what he needed to stave off the agony in his blood and bone.</p><p>While he had little shamelessness when it came to his soothsaying, he was ashamed of his dependence on opiates. He had begged me to hide it from them. I had. We had done our best. </p><p>When I realized that Elrond and Elros knew, I had cautioned them to not speak of it before my brother. All he had left was the tatters of his pride. I did not want it taken from him while I lived.</p><p>"It will break him," I told Elrond plainly. "He has never wanted you to see what he contends with."</p><p>"Ada, he is weakening. He hasn't been able to hide it very well of late."</p><p>"Well, pretence is what keeps families intact, have you not heard?" I asked dryly. </p><p>"You told me to walk in my truth," Elrond replied steadily, pale and utterly resolute in his course. </p><p>"I cannot allow you to wrest from him the little comfort he finds in shielding this from you. One day, when you have children of your own, you will know how desperately one yearns to spare their child from matters as this."</p><p>"Elrond? Macalaurë? Is all well?" </p><p>My brother stood on the threshold of our dining chamber, curious as he looked at our tense forms. He startled when he saw the pipe in Elrond's hands. Despairing, frightened, he turned to me. I had never seen him so afraid. I was furious that I could not spare him this. </p><p>"It is all right," Elrond said quickly. "Ada confiscated my pipe and pipe-weed! He was scolding me for it." </p><p>He was a terrible liar. Even if he knew to lie, my brother was unsurpassed in seeing the truth.</p><p>"I shall deal with this," I vowed to my brother. "You are on your way to the markets, aren't you? Go on."</p><p>Russandol shook his head. He could not bring himself to look at Elrond and the realization broke me. My brother, who had not feared Gods, trembled before a boy we had raised.</p><p>Elrond cursed and rushed to him.  </p><p>I called the boy's name in vain. He had inherited the impulsiveness that ran in our blood. </p><p>"I am learning healing, for you," Elrond whispered to my brother. "I am learning to rule, for you. You told my brother and I that we are your family, that we are your heirs.  Let us help."</p><p>"You cannot," my brother said calmly. </p><p>I knew him. I knew the fear in his voice. I knew the ruthlessness in his gaze as he sought a way out, as a cornered, humiliated beast.</p><p>Elrond had been foolish.  Russandol was mellow, unless he was threatened with what he held dear. Then the fire in him, white and blazing, burned brighter than it had in any of my grandfather's scions.  There was little that my brother held as dearly to him as his privacy when it came to his ill-health. I did not want the boy to face my brother's wrath for this.</p><p>"Leave, Elrond," I ordered, wishing that for once he would listen to me. </p><p>"No," Elrond said flatly. "If I am family, I have the right to help you. You cannot hide this from me. I will not have it."</p><p>The boy had become a man. </p><p>I saw my surprise reflected in Russandol's expressive features. Astonishment diffused his wrath. I breathed a sigh of relief. </p><p>"Splinters mark your hands," Russandol said quietly, his humiliation turning to curiosity. "Calluses have not thickened your palms yet. This was beyond your skill."</p><p>"The distillates have been wreaking havoc on your liver," Elrond replied, equally quiet. His voice did not waver once. Where had he come by his bravery? "I wanted to carve this as soon as I could, before autumn came."</p><p>"A commission would have been simpler," Russandol remarked. </p><p>"Yes, but I wanted it to be of olive," Elrond explained.</p><p>Few carpenters in these parts worked in olive. </p><p>"Well, remarkable," I muttered, scowling furiously at Elrond, even if I was proud of him. "Off with you now." </p><p>I needed to be rid of the boy. There were more important matters requiring my attention. The self-hatred and turmoil on my brother's features I needed to extinguish first. </p><p>My brother had gone to the Dwarves for coal, for these children in the dead of winter. He had gone to the Edain for fruit, for these children in the spring when they craved apricots. </p><p>Neither he nor I were creatures that sought particulars. We made do with what we had, with what we could grow or hunt or breed. The children had had wants of their own. They had craved sweet fruit. They had not the resistance of our kind to the cold. For them, Russandol had willingly bartered again and again. We had not told the children what he had voluntarily done to provide for them. </p><p>"Tell me that you understand, please," Elrond implored my brother. "I wish to help. Let me help!"</p><p>I pressed a hand to my eyes, knowing well that I had lost the chance to prevent catastrophe.</p><p>"I understand that it is time to write to Ereinion to take you into his care," my brother said. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Supper that night was quiet and lonely. </p><p>Russandol had not returned. Elrond had barred himself in his quarters. Elros, worried, had kissed me goodnight before going to see to the changing of the guards.</p><p>As the moon rose, I took the pipe Elrond had carven, and went to find my brother. </p><p>Sometime over the course of our lives, I had come to know where to find him, even if there was no rational explanation to it. My steps took me to the lake by our settlement. It was surrounded by low hillocks. The scouts had seen troll-shaws in the region but Russandol had never been given to self-preservation. </p><p>Sure enough, I found him by the lake, alone, unarmored, without a sword, without even a cloak. He must have come immediately after the argument. The time that had elapsed since had not yet restored him to calm, for he was casting stones into the lake. The crash and ripples must have been enough to wake any beast in the vicinity. The trolls would find him poor sustenance, gaunt as he had become, I told myself. In my years with him, I had learned to pick and choose my battles.</p><p>I went to him. </p><p>"Here to harangue me about how the boy meant well?" He muttered. </p><p>The sight of him, grumpy and scowling, torn between embarrassment and vexation, squeezed my silly heart in its vice grip. </p><p>Taking a deep breath, I took off my cloak and wrapped him in it. He did not protest. </p><p>"The trolls woke at dusk," he said worriedly then. "You should not have come."</p><p>There was little point to arguing about hypocrisy. If he had not understood the concept millennia ago, he was unlikely to at this juncture.</p><p>"Come home with me," I asked instead. </p><p>"You have become a deft hand at this," he remarked, amusement slivered brighter than moonshine in his gaze. </p><p>"I cannot fathom what you mean," I teased him. Wordplay was the easiest way to draw him out of his darker moods. </p><p>"As I said." </p><p>His crooked smile was a fond, old thing that I had not tired of. </p><p>"Enlighten me."</p><p>"They call you Wise." </p><p>"They call every one of our family Wise. I cannot imagine why. We have never been beacons of sense."</p><p>He raised his eyebrows. </p><p>I had to be careful with my words, I knew. He was still reeling from earlier. </p><p>"I daresay our languages are too mundane to describe you."</p><p>I was as surprised by the fervent sincerity of my words as he was. </p><p>"You remain utterly perplexing to me," he said thoughtfully. "All our years, and you surprise me everyday."</p><p>Perhaps I could venture to places I would not have dared to otherwise. </p><p>"You haven't held my ability to surprise against me," I said gently. </p><p>It was a careful dance, of showing him my care without cutting him on the jagged edges of his broken pride. </p><p>"I did not want them to know," he admitted, starkly vulnerable in the moon's glow, stripped of his customary facade. </p><p>I said nothing. I had learned when to speak to him and when to let him come to terms by himself. He sighed and returning to casting stones upon the lake. From a hillock to the north, a troll roared. </p><p>"Perhaps we should make for home," he mused. </p><p>"I brought your sword."</p><p>He laughed, truly taken aback by the suggestion in my voice. </p><p>"Bloodsport, Macalaurë?" </p><p>"One must entertain himself somehow in this household!" I lamented, and winked at him. </p><p>"You utter cad!" </p><p>"Should you manage one more than my count, I shall grant you a favor."</p><p>His eyes sparkled and we raced each other to the hillocks. </p><p>His manner of swordsmanship had been altered dramatically after the loss of his hand. The fire in his eyes, regardless of the living agony he endured everyday, had not withered away. It crackled to life, to blazing power, when he raised his sword to kill. </p><p>I loved watching him in war, in bloodsport as this, when his facade was stripped bare in ways that mere sparring never could. We knew each other's movements as a pair of dancers; cohabitation and its consequences, I thought fondly, as I leapt and arced, guarding his back as he guarded mine. </p><p>When the last one fell, I caught my brother by the waist and spun him into an eager kiss. </p><p>"That does not count as a favor!" He complained. </p><p>"I await your whim," I vowed sweetly, relishing the bloodsong of victory that pumped through us.  </p><p>"Let me cremate them," he said. </p><p>All these years of loss and grief, and he clung to his rituals still. I set about to help him.  We lit the brambles and bush gathered to the carcasses on fire. </p><p>"Well, that was not how I expected my night to fare," he remarked. "You continue to surprise me everyday." </p><p>Drenched in dirt and the blood of trolls, smelling of woodsmoke and sweat, he should not have stirred my desire as he did then, under the moon's bright. How could I resist him when he wore his happiness so openly? </p><p>"Strip," I asked him.</p><p>We ought to wait. We ought to make for home. Wild beasts may be drawn to our fires. Our guards may come looking for us. A hundred reasons not to, I knew. And yet when had I seen him as happy in years?</p><p>"That does not count as a favor," he said easily, setting aside his sword and baring himself to me. </p><p>The grass was wet with dew and blood. I laid my cloak upon it and laid down, before beckoning him to me.  </p><p>"How shall you have me?" </p><p>Oh, how the firelight became him. I saw his nude reflection silhouetted clean against the moon's stark white, cast in crimson by the fires we had lit to burn our kill. </p><p>"Let that be your favor," I offered. </p><p>He hesitated. </p><p>"What is it?" </p><p>I could tell that he had one he wished for, but as well as I knew to read him in other matters, I failed miserably in understanding his preferences in matters of carnality. </p><p>"I daresay it shall close out the day appropriately," he murmured, coming to kneel, straddling me. </p><p>Instinctively, I caught him by the hips. Artanis had been fond of this arrangement, since she had enjoyed the freedom it gave her to seek her pleasure.  </p><p>I knew him well. He loathed seeking his pleasure, preferring it be given to him. Yet, there must be a draw too, for he betrayed a hesitant want in the quiver of his thighs and the bob of his throat's apple. </p><p>"Go on," I encouraged him, kneading his waist tenderly. "Claim me here, on victory's bed."</p><p>His gasp of my name was soaked in devotion when he took me into him. I stayed as still as I could, drinking in the rictus of surprised pleasure that washed across his beloved face.</p><p>He was swift to hide his features in crook of elbow or turned to pillow when in our chambers. He was swift to stifle his cries by biting my shoulder or his lips under our roof. The moon and the fire allowed him not a shadow to hide. In the open of the skies, he keened sweetly for me. </p><p>He was an excellent equestrian, and it showed in his movements. Pleasure-washed, he still managed to keep rhythm and pace, as he moved up and down in my bracing hold. He knew his body well, it was clear, for he made continual adjustments I would not have known to, and each shift brought to him gasping shudders as ecstasy jolted him. I learned him anew, as he pleasured himself upon me. </p><p>"I should paint you so!" I exclaimed, worshipping, my witless mouth running with my words before I could think. </p><p>He turned self-conscious abruptly. </p><p>Elrond had inherited his poor sense of timing and word choices from me, it was clear. </p><p>I turned to salvage what I could. I shifted my hips up, thrusting into him with my full strength, wiping clean his worry with helpless pleasure. He made to speak, but I went on unrelenting. Singing my name, he began to meet me half-way, and we moved as we had fought, in tandem of two that knew each other in ways beyond skin. </p><p>I dared bring my hand to his cock. On most days, he preferred himself untouched and would strike my hand away. This was a night of extraordinary allowances, for he sighed in languid pleasure when I touched him. </p><p>When we came, it was within moments of each other. Perfect, I told myself happily. I pulled him down to me. The flesh of him was warm and covered in exertion's sweat. I found my thick robes and draped it over us as a blanket. </p><p>"Shall we sleep here?" He murmured tiredly. </p><p>Before I could refuse him, he said, "I know. Only a little while longer."</p><p>I sighed and kissed him softly. Let him sleep. I would wake him at dawn and take him home. </p><p>"I shall speak to Elrond," he said sleepily. </p><p>I said nothing. He was not impulsive. I knew him well enough to realize he had been thinking of sending the children to Ereinion as the war drew near, as his health deteriorated. They were no longer children. We had nothing left to give them. Ereinion could offer them everything we could not. </p><p>I had learned to pick my battles.</p><p>Perhaps I could give him the pipe in the morning. </p><p>"I prefer the distillates because I wish to spare my lungs as best as I can. I took poorly the most to being hung or drowned or led to breathlessness at death's edge in other ways," my brother said then, knowing well where my thoughts had meandered. He and I, attuned to each other as we were, did not require words to converse anymore. </p><p>I clutched him close and let him wipe away my silent tears. Perhaps this was why he had made it a longstanding policy of evading our questions. His truths we had not the courage to hear. </p><p>"Sing for me?"</p><p>I sung for him a heart's song true.</p><p> </p><p>"Here, my lovely spring, nude wreathed in leaves  <br/>
Buds and new blooms you have borne, <br/>
In your arms thousand birds built their bowers, <br/>
And gaily sung to call their paramours; <br/>
Lark and nightingale there were and their songs renowned, <br/>
But it was the Thorn-Bird that sung the sweetest." </p><p> </p><p>In Valinor, we had heard of the legend of the thorn-bird, of how it would pierce its heart upon a thorn or jagged bough to call its mate with the sweetest of songs. </p><p>My brother had pierced his heart under Thangorodrim's shadow. Bleeding, he had returned to my arms. His shattered remnants in sigh and smile I had gathered unto me, and no songs sweeter had been strung to harp or lute. I clung to them, desperately, for I knew soon that I would not have anything else left.</p><p>I held him until the moon set. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act V</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>Among the lilacs hand in hand</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Victory was a strange concept, and one I knew not to come to terms with. </p><p>"It is rather novel," I told Findaráto, as we walked together. "Defeat is more palatable, in its familiarity. I cannot think of a single victory we knew."</p><p>"I had always held my own against trolls," Findaráto remarked. "Even the doom of Mandos could be outwitted against those good creatures!"</p><p>I remembered how Russandol and I had once celebrated by a lake, drenched in the blood of trolls, as their carcasses burned mere yards from us. Altogether uncivilized, and I had relished every helpless smile of his that night. </p><p>"I cannot complain," Findaráto said happily, waving at the world about us. "It is imperfection, but it is ours." </p><p>I knew what he meant. I felt the same. </p><p>"I am grateful to Artanis," I said sincerely. </p><p>"You and I, cousin," Findaráto replied. </p><p>Russandol had not intended to save himself. Torn by guilt as he had been, after what the war had cost us, he had intended to let his soul fray and disintegrate into the primordial. Artanis, clever and adamant, had plucked the core of him clean of memory and dumped him in this creation of his. </p><p>He remembered nothing. He was happy as only one drenched in lethe could be. I could not have asked for more. </p><p>"Húrin said that Russandol visits him sporadically now, claiming that he is occupied with your integration."</p><p>Integration? What a strange word. </p><p>Russandol did not remember what we had been once. </p><p>I had been the last to wake by the lake. He had been curious to learn more of me, seeking my company frequently. I would have considered it fascination in another, but in him I knew it was merely his insuppressible and dangerous curiosity. I had to watch every word and pause, lest he saw too much and learned of the past. </p><p>It was destined to fail, I knew. Our family hoped to keep him in the dark. They did not know him as I did. I had been by his side when he had unravelled creation's secrets one by one, distilling lore and song and hearsay to the truth.  </p><p>"Artanis should have mellowed his mind," I complained. </p><p>"Well, she plucked the core of him."</p><p>The core of him had always been his fine mind and his thorn-bird heart. </p><p>My voice held its power in song. Artanis and Findaráto and Findekáno and all the rest of us carried in ourselves our might of old, if tempered by wisdom and grief. Russandol was different. Gone was the bright fire that had blazed white in him once. </p><p>The currency of power was sacrifice. </p><p>The power of his soul had unspooled about the Silmarilli, to birth this creation from chaos and Eru's light. </p><p>Powerless and ordinary, he remained happy. </p><p>"Imperfect this world is, but it is ours. I cannot complain," Findaráto reiterated. </p><p>"Neither can I," I concurred. </p><p>"Well, if he takes you to bed, what shall you do?" Findaráto demanded, prurient beast that he was.<br/>
 <br/>
"I don't expect him to," I said frankly. "He seems quite content in Húrin's company."</p><p>They seemed extraordinarily well-suited to each other, to hear tales from the maids and the stablehands. </p><p>"Húrin said they had a summer's tryst in Himring once," Findaráto confided, gossip that he was. </p><p>"I know." </p><p>My spies in Russandol's guard had written to me. Findekáno's spies in Russandol's guard had written to him. Altogether flummoxed by this strange departure in norm of my brother's ways, Findekáno had sought answers of me. </p><p>Húrin had been barely twenty and six when he had been seduced to Russandol's bed. Seduced, I was sure, despite Findekáno's insistence that Húrin must have been the one to initiate. My cousin was oblivious to my brother's ways, I had thought, amused darkly. Perhaps in action, Húrin must have initiated. In intention, Russandol must have led. He had a way of bringing men to him.  Coy and bold in turns, he was irresistible when he willed. A boy of twenty and six had not stood a chance. </p><p>Regardless of how it had begun, it had sparked a long friendship. Húrin had been dear to our family. He had been Turkáno's friend. He had ridden at Findekáno's side in battle. He had saved both Russandol and Turkáno on plains of blood, and had been captured for his defiance. After three decades, after burying his wife by his children, he had wandered alone. Turkáno had not permitted him entry, though my cousin had bitterly rued his decision later. Melyanna had sent Húrin to my brother. Russandol had helped him die. </p><p>Even I could not hold a grudge against a dead man. Besides, their tryst had enlivened my brother and given him a spark of joy in his lonely life wedded to purpose upon a barren mountain.  I could not resent that. </p><p>"I speculate that Húrin is not altogether truthful when he tells Russandol their arrangement is a tryst," Findaráto continued. "Turkáno says he is not the trysting sort."</p><p>I would have worried and sought to intervene if it had been Findekáno. </p><p>Húrin, I trusted.</p><p>Besides, he could only hide if Russandol chose not to see. I knew my brother well; he had never once chosen not to see. <br/>
 </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Perhaps I ought to have expected this, I thought. I was too wrung out to think of the ramifications, as I lay panting beside my brother in his bed. </p><p>"Comfortable?" He queried. </p><p>I ran warm and the sheer silken extravaganza of his bed did not settle me any. And there were no pillows. </p><p>His fingers walked a distracted trail up my arm, from elbow to shoulder. </p><p>"Did you think this through?" I asked him hopelessly. </p><p>He had been carrying on with Húrin without a smidge of unhappiness. What was he going to do?  </p><p>"Not now," he said, displeased by my practicality when he desired more carnal embraces. <br/>
 <br/>
I ought to visit Húrin, I knew then. Russandol was unlikely to explain his decisions to the poor man.</p><p>Russandol was peculiar. He had always been. I blamed Nolofinwë, who had raised him, for his many quirks. </p><p>In matters of the heart, he had not actively sought to fall in love, anymore than he had actively sought to evade it. He excelled at loving quietly without expectation. He had loved me through my liaison with Artanis, through my marriage, before I had realized the depth of his affection. </p><p>The flaw of his ways was that he expected the same unconditionality in return. He loathed explaining himself. I had never found satisfactory answers from him on the matter of Findekáno. I had never found <em>any</em> answer from him on the matter of Elerrína. I had not bothered to ask him of Húrin, well-versed to his prickliness on these matters as I had become. It had irked me once, and caused me crippling insecurities. </p><p>Now I knew what I had meant to him. Everybody knew. Little wonder why Húrin held their romance was a tryst. </p><p>As eventide, in us was an inevitability. It was the only inevitability he had not unwoven. </p><p>"You are too contemplative. I must shag it out of you." </p><p>"Shag it out of me?" I blinked at my brother. "Stop picking up arcane orgy phrases from Findaráto. And I demand pillows!" </p><p>He grinned brightly and kissed my protests away. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Later, I ventured to his windows, and saw the shepherds bringing the cattle home from pastures. The birds were flocking to their boughs for the night. The fragrance of the white roses he grew hung delicate, even over the sex-drenched air in the room. </p><p>I turned to look at him, at the lovely nude splash he was on silken sheets of white and blue.</p><p>There were dark shadows of sleep deprivation about his eyes. He had mulled over his attraction, even if he had not spoken of it. Had he come to share my conclusion of inevitability? I did not know. I suspected I would never find out. He was not one to speak of these things. </p><p>"Did you sing me to sleep once?" He asked, seeing more than I wanted him to even in languid repose. </p><p>His mind was a dangerous thing. It had always been. </p><p>"Yes," I confessed. </p><p>My voice had been his last balm, when he had lost sight and sanity. </p><p>"Could you, please?"</p><p> </p><p>It is the season now to go <br/>
About the country high and low, <br/>
Among the lilacs hand in hand, <br/>
And two by two in fairyland.</p><p> </p><p>I sung him to sleep once more, upon madrigal's wings. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act VI</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>Live with me and be my love</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What ails you?" </p><p>"Curiosity," I muttered, accepting the pitcher of ale Húrin proferred. </p><p>We were in one of the villages by his hillside. I enjoyed watching the dances and the markets, though I was loathe to partake. It must be my long years of solitude that had changed me. I found pleasure in watching others live. </p><p>Húrin was convivial company, neither given to raucous merriment as many of my family nor given to moroseness as others of my family. He was used to solitude. </p><p>We had become friends, extraordinary as the concept was to me when applied to one not of my blood. He was difficult to resent. I had had no difficulty in loathing any of my brother's other lovers, suspected or confirmed. Húrin, though, I could never bring myself to. There had been a marked difference in Russandol, before and after that summer. He had loved as a mortal afterwards, though I had seen this only in hindsight. </p><p>We munched on greasy meat and cheeses skewered over open fires, and drank more than was wise. </p><p>"Tell me," Húrin asked again. "You are halfway through your sixth pitcher. If you will not tell me now, you are not going to."</p><p>"Has anyone told you that you are incorrigible?" </p><p>"Turgon may have mentioned it once or twice," he said, laughing.</p><p>How was he of the Edain? He had matched me drink for drink. The many mysteries of Húrin, beloved to our house. </p><p>He waited patiently. In times as this, I saw that he truly had learned to deal with us, from his experience with Turkáno and Russandol. My cousin and brother were given to chatter, but neither of them was particularly given to discussing anything that pertained to their emotions. </p><p>"Russandol has been striving to find the words to ask," I said finally. "I wish to be ready when he is ready." </p><p>"You realize this sounds as a maiden mooning for her youth to speak of marriage?" Húrin asked, terribly amused. </p><p>"He is not given to marriage. He shares Nolofinwë's view on it. A terrible institution that kills love, they say." </p><p>"Fingolfin followed his brother from doom to doom. Maedhros felled the Gods for you. Who more married than them? They merely like their self-deceptions," Húrin said dryly. </p><p>I shrugged. I had long accepted my brother's peculiarities. If I wanted a ring and vows, I would have to see to it myself, after lulling him with a bout or two of sex so that he might not protest too much. He would not mind, in the end. He had always let me away with anything. </p><p>"Well, if it is not marriage, then what are you alluding to?" Húrin asked. </p><p>"Sex." I sighed in relief when understanding bloomed on my friend's face. </p><p>"I had not expected him to ask you," he admitted. </p><p>I bristled. </p><p>He held out his hands to placate and went on, "Your arrangement has always seemed...one not of the flesh."</p><p>Whatever did that mean? </p><p>He shook his head, frowned at his ale, and tried again to explain. "He was your brother before you became lovers."</p><p>"He raised me," I added. "My parents had their hands full with the others. They sent me to Grandfather. Russandol saw to my care and keep and education."</p><p>"It is as I thought," Húrin said wisely, nodding. </p><p>"Incest is not taboo to him," I said, surprised.</p><p>"It is your history. He taught you. He raised you, for all intents and purposes. He had always held a measure of responsibility, and I daresay, even authority, in your dynamic. I cannot imagine it easy for him to seek from you his assortment of preferences."</p><p>"He is exceptionally brave," I said, irked, rising to my brother's defense. "I know he shall ask. I merely need your help so that I may be ready."</p><p>Húrin stared at me open-mouthed. Only he could have made the flabbergasted expression attractive. He was an extraordinarily handsome man. Little wonder Russandol had seduced him. </p><p>"Are you going to help me or sit there catching flies?" I asked, irritated. </p><p>"I am going to help you," Húrin promised. "I merely require a moment to grapple with my amazement. You have changed." </p><p>"You did not know me then." </p><p>"All he spoke of was you." </p><p>Once I would taken umbrage, and fretted over what my brother might have said of me. I knew my brother well, though, and could imagine the helpless joy in his voice as he spoke of me. There was no rancor to Húrin's tone, thankfully. He was generous in spirit as no other.</p><p>"So what must I do?"</p><p>"Watch him. He leads well. He is not one to hesitate if you are both of the same mind."</p><p>I knew what he meant. Russandol had an uncanny way of leading without words. </p><p>"Has he reacted adversely to anything?" I asked cautiously. </p><p>Artanis promised me that my brother's memories would not return, that only their impressions remained, as a husk where dwelt no life. He clearly had found a way about that, following emotion to impressions swiftly when he chose to. He had chosen mostly not to, heeding our wishes. In intimacy, strung high on vulnerability, he may not be able to will his mind from wandering where it may. I had no desire to cause him even the least of grief, should he remember darker days. </p><p>"Not that I have seen," Húrin said, smiling at me proudly, as if pleased by my care. </p><p>I scowled. I had been protecting my brother for longer than Húrin's mayfly life. Then, again, I mellowed, thinking that I wanted anyone and everyone to protect my brother who lacked then and now a sense of self-preservation. And Húrin had protected him well, in heart and with sword. A summer's tryst, and they had been compatible enough for Russandol to rest his misgivings and attempt seeking his preferences once more. </p><p>"I cannot compare to you," I muttered, thinking again of the wretched hilarity that may ensue. I would fare dismally, and then my brother would take pity, and we would never speak of it again, and he would endure silently a life of carnality that gave him not what he desired. </p><p>"Insecurity does not become you," Húrin declared. </p><p>It could not be difficult. Húrin had been a virgin boy when he had gone to Russandol's bed. </p><p>It had been as Húrin said, I realized grumpily. Why did he have to be always right? I venerated my brother because I had been a child once and he a doting guardian. Whatever we had become to each other afterwards, there remained an imprint of that ancient dynamic in our ways, in how I looked to him. Little wonder why Húrin was astonished that my brother could bring himself to even discuss his preferences with me.</p><p>My brother had never made any secret of his preferences. He had confessed them to me long ago, upon a barren mountain, and I had told him that I would heal him of his dark wants. He must have loved me very much, because he had not spoken a word to refute my claim. Oh, how naive had I been then! It had not occurred to me that anyone may want what he wanted without deep and complex scars of the psyche. </p><p>Even Tyelko had noticed and despised him for his need to seek surrender at another's hands. Most of our family had known. We had been perplexed and pitying, and had gently dissuaded him as best as we could, considering it one of his many coping mechanisms after Angband. We had thought it driven by a need to seek penance. However were we to know that it was coping mechanism and warped preference both? While he excelled at dissecting the truth, he was not given to speaking of it. A need for another's approval had never marked him. So he had carried on, dismissing our judgement and fears, and had made no apologies for his ways. It had spiraled badly, into a bitter chalice, and I had been terrified of the day Findekáno would venture too far in their games, for it was clear to all of us that the day would come. Thankfully, my brother had taken himself to Himring and recouped in isolation.  And when Húrin had come along, many lifetimes of the Edain later, he had learned to seek pleasure once more.  Carnistro had been right, I realized. He had been the only one who had demanded that we let Russandol be, whenever we feared for his arrangement with Findekáno. <em>He knows his mind</em>, Carnistro had insisted, again and again. </p><p>This time, he would know only pleasure in his surrender, I resolved. </p><p>He would ask me again, I knew. He was courage itself. This time, I would be ready.</p><p>"You have a scheming face now," Húrin noted.</p><p>"I know exactly what to do!" I said happily, setting aside my conundrum.</p><p>If Húrin was skeptical, at least he had the courtesy  not to speak of it. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It turned out to be absurdly simple. </p><p>Russandol led excellently with glance and touch. He taught me to hold him at mercy's edge. </p><p>"Weren't you afraid?" I asked nervously. </p><p>He had once told me of his fear of grasping for breath in vain at death's door. And yet he had been gloriously wanton as he had given himself over to me, breathless and thrashing and dancing on that line of life as he had once exultantly done every day. </p><p>"If you were anyone else, I would not have asked for this," he said simply, bringing a trembling hand to cup my face. </p><p>It frightened me how he surrendered to me, even though I had had millennia to come to terms with this truth of us. I had always considered him lacking in self-preservation, but Carnistro had been right all along. My brother knew himself well, then and now. </p><p>"Did I please you?" he asked softly. </p><p>I laughed, near hysteria. Under my palm, life thudded in his veins, blood-warm. </p><p>Seeing the concern drawn on his brow, I decided to begin as I meant to go on. "You were a delight and a delicacy. As a fish on a hook, thrashing so sweetly about my cock, trying to please me even when you had no air left to you, throat pressed to my palms, eyes wide in wanton desperation, lips parted lewd for the kisses of my mouth, naked to your soul."</p><p>He looked impossibly young then, flushed with joy and pride. Well, I had begun as I meant to go on, I thought tenderly, kissing him as the bee suckles the bloom. </p><p>There was no description that did his eyes justice. This bards and masters of lore and painters and craftsmen had always known.</p><p>There was no description that did his absolute surrender justice. This only I knew. </p><p>And I, greedy, grasping dragon that hoarded I have always been, when it came to him, could not have asked for more. I had once feared, and he had once feared, that in carnality we were ill-matched. It had not been true. Whether we be under Eru's skies or ours, him I had wanted in my keeping. I had not known to ask for it once, and had spent my days sabotaging any that took an  interest in his welfare, and had often viciously browbeaten him to placation knowing well how he disliked domestic discord. I had been tempered by my solitude. Let me have him yield, at my mercy, when we were two in the quiet of our quarters. Outside, I would not exercise my possessiveness and guard his attention selfishly as of old. </p><p>Emboldened by the bruises on him I had painted, I asked eagerly, "Teach me to bring you to pleas."</p><p>"We should ration your burgeoning dominance," he murmured, lying sated and still, flushed from our activities. "I have apples to harvest."</p><p>The hoarseness of his voice made my heart clench in want. I pressed a kiss to his throat. </p><p>"Teach me," I urged him, drunk on my power over him. I could not still my hands. One ran through his tangled hair and one tracked the long line of his back from nape to swell of arse. </p><p>He threw a companionable arm about me and hummed. I paused my ministrations.</p><p>"Don't stop," he complained.</p><p>"Then tell me," I bartered.</p><p>"You play me as a lute."</p><p>"Tell me, please."</p><p>"Whatever is there to say?" He asked me, genuinely puzzled. His eyes I had never found a true descriptor for, but they were all that remained of Varda's stars in our creation. I skimmed a finger delicately over the eyelash of his right eye. He let me. </p><p>"Oh," I said, blushing as epiphany struck.</p><p>"Indeed," he replied wryly. "If you wished it, I would gladly beg. I am yours."</p><p>"You must not speak so!" I protested, inflamed by his words. </p><p>"Modesty, brother? It is a tad late in its arrival." </p><p>"How right you are!" I said, laughing. "Let us see how well you beg me. Touch yourself. I want to see you holding yourself at pleasure's precipice until I bid you free."</p><p>He begged sweeter than any bard's lyre. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>I came upon him once by the lake where life had awoken. There was more knowing in him than had been there when I had parted from him in the morning. </p><p>"You have not asked me to stop," he said warily.</p><p>"Come walk with me," I offered. </p><p>He was often disorientated in the wake of knowing. A long walk would settle him.</p><p>When he joined me, impulsively I took his arm in mine. I had always done that with Artanis. I had never done that with him. I had been a fool. His hand slotted neatly in my arm. He sought tactility freely in platonic touch from our family. How touch-starved had he been once! I blamed myself for it. I had always held myself in reserve and he had feared to ask.</p><p>I led him to a spread of periwinkle in bloom upon a grassy atoll. </p><p>There we sat and watched the hills and valleys, dales and fields, and merry rivers run. There I laid him upon the spring flowers and covered him with kisses. There we lay replete in repose, and watched the shepherds tend to their flocks. </p><p>The world and my love was young, and I wanted for nothing as I adored him. </p><p>"You look at me so," he protested quietly.</p><p>He did not know how he looked at me. </p><p>Spread before me upon periwinkle's blue-dotted evergreen, marked by evening's dew, he was unadorned and adorned the most. Ever mine, I thought, kissing his brow. </p><p>"I am yours," I reminded him, as I reminded him everyday.</p><p>"A song then?"</p><p>"What shall you have?"</p><p>"A madrigal."</p><p>I no longer sung before others. I had little desire to. My songs were for him. </p><p> </p><p>"Cedar and olive and mandragora kiss'th the air,<br/>
Violet and crocus and periwinkle paints the green,<br/>
My love lies in my arms, as rose upon briar,<br/>
In madrigals I loved you before spring came."</p><p><br/>
 <br/>
"However can I compare?" He wondered, and the awe he wore was a shy smile I kissed. </p><p>"Oh, you shall manage. You have, always." </p><p>He had, and I had sung for him through it all. </p><p>"Macalaurë."</p><p>My name on his lips was providence. </p><p>In madrigals, I loved him evermore. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
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